Foreshadow
by Tallis224
Summary: In order to close a door, another might need to be opened slowly. With great reluctance. So, Ducky reflects on relationships in the aftermath of “Broken Bird." "Broken Bird" spoilers. Please read and review. This is a bit different than my other stuff.


_**This story takes place after "Broken Bird" and just before my story "Ducks in a Row."**_

_**Spoiler for "Broken Bird"**_

_**Rated T**_

_**Pairing: Ducky Mallard/Jordan Hampton**_

_I owe this to a poetry reading I attended in my hometown of Rochester, NY a few nights ago. Nothing truly touched me then, but I went home wanting to write poetry as good as I had just heard. Poetry is my first love, but nobody reads it…and if there's no money in fanfic, there's twice as much no money in poetry…so maybe this is a bit of prose/poetry…Anyway, this is what came out…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ NCIS is not mine. Ducky is not mine. Jordan is not mine. I will just use them for awhile and enjoy their company…thank you!_

_**Thank you:**__ Aunt Kitty – you think this is good enough…_

_**Summary:**__ In order to close a door, another might need to be opened slowly. With great reluctance. So, Ducky reflects on relationships in the aftermath of "Broken Bird."_

_Reviews and comments are very welcome!_

**Foreshadow**

by Tallis224

He finished loving her.

For the first time in six weeks he was able to release the demons, he was able to give in to the pleasure of her caresses, her lithe body against his, the friction of her skin, the soft silk of her hair playing through his fingers.

Her perfume was always deep and earthy and now melded with the scent of both of them, sated.

She looked at him through slitted eyes, draped her arm across his waist, sighed with satisfaction.

The realization of what he had been forced to do so many years ago had kept him away from her too long. God knows she let him talk it out, cry it out, shout out his hatred and self-loathing at the walls, at the ceiling, at her.

But he couldn't tell her everything.

There was pain that ran deeper than tacitly accepting torture. Than committing murder for mercy.

There was the pain that drove him there – to Afghanistan. To the den of the torturer.

He drew her closer. There was comfort in her warmth. He tucked her head under his chin, stroked her hair, kissed it. Naked, they lay wrapped together, a puzzle of arms and legs. As long as he couldn't see her face he could let her stay in his arms, in his bed, be part of his healing.

As long as he didn't see her face.

So much he couldn't tell her…

She cooked dinner for him tonight, in his kitchen. She made a chicken dish that reminded him of another dish he used to love, one he hadn't eaten in years. It was close, but not a perfect match.

She'd never make a perfect match.

And yet he'd loved her tonight. Made love to her as they had before, for the better part of a year. With practiced grace, a dance with all the right moves, the sensual choreography leading to sweet crescendo.

He'd missed the closeness, the comfort, the intimacy.

How could he tell her it wasn't her closeness he missed? That it wasn't her body he felt? Wasn't her face that he saw tonight in his mind when he closed his eyes and let her do the tender, wonderful things she did that made their bodies sing together?

It was the memory of another face, of another body that finally gave him the courage to let go, to finally let her pleasure him.

The key to his release wasn't Jordan's physician's ministrations, those gifted hands and lips that floated over him bringing him ever closer to the brink.

It wasn't Jordan at all.

He remembered a young girl with brown hair, brown eyes, blushing as they flirted in a hospital examination room. The sound of _her_ laughter. He saw _her_ face clearly as Jordan's hands fluttered over his chest with almost the same rhythm as _her_ hands. A kiss almost as soft as _hers_, but absent the fire, the abandon that only _she_ could prompt in him.

But memory was enough for him to be able to love Jordan tonight. To open up that part of him that was lost when he allowed that bastard Jerek to finally break him.

He was grateful, so grateful that Jordan was satisfied, that he could give her what she needed, return a piece of what she had given him. Even if it was under the guise of the woman who would always be the sun, the moon and all the stars to him.

Jordan's breathing smoothed into the regularity of sleep as he lay, still holding her, stroking her arm and back with his fingertips. He allowed his mind to fall back into the thoughts that prompted him to finally open himself to her tonight…

_Walking in the moonlight along the shore of a lake so vast that anywhere else it might have been called a sea. His arm around her waist, hers around his as their eyes followed the moon-path on the water, as they made up stories about where the silver road ended, what they would find there together._

_Her face soft in the warm flicker of candlelight as she let him love her for the first time._

_Reaching out to touch the roundness of her belly as she placed his hand on the fluttering life they had created together – the first time he felt his child – __**their**__ child move._

_The love that shone through her exhaustion and his as he finally placed their newborn son in her arms to suckle her breast._

_Of loving her far into the night, moonlight spilling onto the bed, turning her skin to silver._

_And always, always, the sweet, soft scent of jasmine, of white flowers and warm skin. He would never forget the smell of her skin…the music of her voice…_

…"_I love you, Donald Mallard"…_

They lost their child.

Then they lost each other.

He felt tears pool behind closed eyelids, but he refused to let them go. He couldn't hold on to Celeste, so he had to hold on to something.

For tonight, he would hold on to Jordan.

But he would never be able to tell her why.

**END**

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